


you get me high

by obscene_pop



Category: All Elite Wrestling, Being The Elite (Web Series), Professional Wrestling, 新日本プロレス | New Japan Pro-Wrestling
Genre: M/M, Mile High Club, Multi, Sibling Incest, getting ever closer to kenny actually being onscreen, this time he has a speaking role! kinda!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-27
Updated: 2019-03-27
Packaged: 2019-12-18 15:09:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18252362
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/obscene_pop/pseuds/obscene_pop
Summary: “I’m serious,” Matt says, his resolve solidifying as Nick sits up to face him. “Don’t you think it’s ridiculous that we’ve never done it?”“What, joined the mile high club?” Nick asks, teasing, “Or just screwed in a bathroom?”





	you get me high

**Author's Note:**

> teagreens: bucks joining the mile high club would make a game out of trying to make each other scream n give them away and i,,, :eyes:  
> me: well, shit, now i have to write that
> 
> ty to teagreens and xcuubei for cheering me on <3 <3
> 
> as with the last one, this is full-on buckscest, so if that squicks you out hit the back button now!

Nick throws himself down in the seat next to him, brandishing their tickets like they’re made of gold.

“First class, Matt,” he crows, “All the way to Narita.”

“You’re kidding.”

“Nope.” Flashing him a grin, Nick whips his phone out of his back pocket to snap a picture. Matt’s phone goes off a second later. He reads the notifications, two in quick succession: 

> #theELITE (we’re the best!)
> 
> Nick: _we got the rub_.
> 
> Kenny: _does that mean you’ll be off the plane faster?_

He angles the phone so Nick can read Kenny’s response off his lock screen. 

Nick snorts. “He’s up late.” 

“I think he’s getting impatient.”

“That’d make three of us.”

“Oh, really?” Matt asks, waggling his eyebrows, but Nick only rolls his eyes at him. 

He’s right, of course. Matt’s impatient, too. It’s been three weeks since they’ve seen Kenny: three weeks of getting by on texts and calls and never enough of either. Nick’s taken to documenting everything he can, draining all their data plans just so Kenny knows they’re thinking of him, so he can send back an emoji or a dorky one-liner and show them that he’s thinking of them too.

But it’s almost over now. Today marks the start of a two-week loop, and the Elite are booked on almost every show.

“Just gotta make it through this flight,” Nick says, sitting back in his chair and settling his cap low over his eyes.

Matt scoffs softly, unlocks his phone to send Kenny another picture. 

> Matt: _this guy thinks he can sleep in airports now_
> 
> Kenny: _aw. you tire him out?_

Matt grins. Last night he’d sent Kenny a recording: just the sound of their names, tangled together on Nick’s tongue as Matt finally let him come. It’d been three in the morning, their time.

> Matt: _maybe a little._
> 
> Kenny: _save some for me._
> 
> Matt: _only if you get some sleep._

Matt scrolls through Twitter until the call to board, lets Nick rest his eyes even if he doesn’t have a hope of getting any real sleep. When the announcement comes, he gets Nick’s carry-on bag for him, gives him as much time as he needs to get to his feet and reorient himself. He’s hopeless when he first wakes up: all the angles and lines of him worn down into curves, into bleary-eyed stumbling and soft sounds. His glasses are askew; Matt can’t fix them for him in this busy terminal.

Nick passes him their tickets, and Matt gets them through the boarding process. Their seats are ridiculous, a conjoined pod thing with too much leg room for any normal human. Nick sits down and stretches out with an obnoxious groan. 

“This is the _life_ ,” he says, holding up a too sweet for Matt.

“One day it’s gonna be like this all the time,” Matt promises him, not for the first time. “One day we’re gonna be legends in this business…”

“…this business that we _love_ ,” Nick finishes with a lazy smile.

“Damn straight.”

The air hostess offers them a long list of cocktails and a password for the in-flight wi-fi; Matt waves off the cocktails, and Nick writes the password down on his phone. Once they reach cruising altitude, he sets up his laptop on the tray table, angled so they can watch it together. “What d’you wanna put on?”

“One of ours?”

Nick laughs. “Of course.”

“Of course. Alright… how about that ladder match with Kenny? From last month.”

“Sounds good.”

Their seats are huge, but Nick still puts the arm rest up before he hits play. He hands Matt one of his earbuds, shifting over into his space so they can share. Matt finds himself watching him as much as the match: his slow, satisfied smile when they pull off something impressive on the recording, the way he tips his head back onto Matt’s shoulder to look at him when he has something to say, shifting lower in his seat until he’s all but lying against Matt’s chest.

The match ramps up to its climax. A pixellated Nick in tassels and bright spandex climbs a ladder in the centre of the ring; on the outside, Matt and Kenny are brawling with the enemy team. The crowd’s cheering crescendoes as one of their opponents makes it back into the ring, unnoticed, and crawls toward the ladder. 

On the screen and in his seat, Matt’s world narrows to the ladder, silhouetted against the harsh lights overhead as it slowly, slowly starts to tip. Balanced on the top rung, Nick looks afraid for just the barest second. Then he catches sight of Matt and Kenny, and he’s himself again. He picks his moment, makes the leap to the top rope and springboards off it like it’s easy, like he’s weightless. For a moment everything hangs still, the crowd hushed, everyone in the building in awe of him. Then the world catches up and he crashes down, right on target.

Nick looks up at him, grinning. “How was that?”

In the mess of bodies on screen, he’s just made it back to the safety of the Elite. The camera pans down over him, lying dazed with his head on Matt’s thigh and Kenny’s arm across his chest, panting and loose-limbed the same way he’d been when they were done with him that night. 

Matt wants to kiss him stupid. “Perfect,” he says, voice low, “I could watch you do that all night, babe.”

Pleased, Nick stretches out in his seat again, his back arching into a bridge. Matt glances around them - the cabin lights are dim, the staff nowhere close - then gives him an exaggerated up-and-down, flicking out his tongue to lick his lips.

Nick catches the look and hams it up a little in response. The hem of his shirt rides up, exposing a slice of golden skin, and Matt gets another vivid image from the night of that match: his hand in Nick’s hair, holding him in this position, at the mercy of Kenny’s sinful mouth.

Suddenly, twelve more hours in the air might as well be an eternity.

“Hey,” he’s asking before he’s really thought it through, “D’you think first class has bigger bathrooms?”

Nick snorts. “I doubt it,” he starts. Then Matt feels him still against him. “Oh, shoot. Are you serious?”

“Yeah, I’m serious,” Matt says, his resolve solidifying as Nick sits up to face him, taking out his earbud. “Don’t you think it’s ridiculous that we’ve never done it?”

“What, joined the mile high club?” Nick asks, teasing, “Or just screwed in a bathroom?”

Matt feels his face heat. “The mile high club. It’s a rite of passage, c’mon.”

“I don’t know. I think guys like Beretta just say that so they don’t have to think about how gross it is.”

“I - shut up. D’you want to, or not?”

Nick pretends to think about it, but his wolfish grin gives him away. “Now?”

Matt leans over him to pause the video. “Right the eff now,” he says, just to make Nick laugh, and then, “Go. I’ll meet you.”

Nick doesn’t need to be told twice. Matt gives him two minutes, counting them down on his phone, and then follows.

The door to the restroom sticks on its rollers a little, and Matt has to shove it closed before he can click the lock into place behind him. There’s a beat of silence, and then the two of them let out a hopeless laugh: there's no room inside at all. Nick’s holding his neck at an awkward angle, his head against the sloped ceiling; Matt’s leaning against the door, hyper-aware of how flimsy it is.

“This is such a bad idea,” Nick says, looking up to brace a hand on the ceiling.

“Oh, definitely,” Matt agrees, magnanimous. “You still wanna do it?”

Nick laughs: he loves taking these stupid risks even more than Matt does. “Of course I do.”

Matt shuffles around to settle his weight against the sink. He rocks back against it like he’s testing the ropes and nods, satisfied. Then Nick’s up in his space, leaning in to whisper in his ear: “So, what was that about right the eff now?”

Matt licks his lips, pulling him down into a kiss.

They trade shallow, smiling kisses, teasing each other, until Nick sinks his teeth into Matt's bottom lip and pulls away with a raised eyebrow. Matt grins in answer and the next kiss is forceful, teeth and tongue and roaming, greedy hands.

Nick taps the side of Matt’s thigh with two fingers, pulling away to ask: “D’you think that sink can -”

“- _yeah_ ,” Matt says, too fast. Nick laughs, and he flushes. “I mean - yeah. It’ll be fine.”

“Alright.” Nick grips his thighs, lifting him up. “If it breaks, it’s on you.”

The cold metal rim of the sink digs into the backs of Matt’s thighs, just short of painful. It’s worth it to feel Nick’s strength holding him there, the weight of him, pressing in close until their hips meet and Matt sees sparks.

His hands find their way to Nick’s belt. The leather hisses through the buckle, and Nick’s mouth drops open on a soft moan. Matt wants to tell him how incredible he is, watch him come apart on the praise and attention just as much as Matt's touch, but they don’t have time, not here. Instead he fumbles Nick's fly open with one hand, spitting into the palm of the other.

"Jeez," Nick says, and Matt can feel that smirk against his cheek, "This is a bit - _oh_ fuck, Matt -”

“Shh, baby, c’mon,” he says, his lips brushing against the shell of Nick's ear. He swipes his thumb through the precome beading at the head of Nick’s cock, keeping the pressure light, teasing. “Keep quiet for m- _oh_ -”

“Sorry,” Nick asks, pausing with his hand down Matt’s jeans, “What was that?”

Matt gives him the closest thing to a laugh he can right now, breathless. 

Nick squeezes his cock again, slow, deliberate, and Matt has to grit his teeth against the moan that threatens to tear out of his throat. Then he sets up an urgent rhythm. Matt tries to match him, but before long he’s struggling to keep himself under control. He presses his open mouth to Nick’s throat, too far gone already to even think of biting down: just teeth against the skin, wanting, wanting.

Nick presses a kiss to his temple, buries a hand in his hair and pulls him up until their eyes meet. “Look at you,” he says, “You wanted this pretty bad, huh?”

Matt nips once at Nick’s bottom lip: _shut up_ , and again: _so did you_. Nick huffs a laugh and bites him back, and it devolves into a messy kiss.

“Can’t believe even watching me on-demand does it for you this much,” Nick says when he pulls away. He’s teasing, but there’s a note of fascination underneath. “How’d you even - _fuck_ \- how’d you even make it through that match?”

Matt whines, remembering: he’d wanted to force a DQ just so he could drag Nick back to the locker room. Kenny had been halfway to agreeing with him.

“’S that right?” Nick presses. He looks so proud of himself, watching Matt through half-hooded eyes. Drinking him in. 

Under that gaze, Matt feels out of control in the best way, all his senses taken up by Nick, overwhelming. With a twist of his wrist, Nick has him biting back breathy, desperate noises, the pleasure building until it’s enough to drown him. It would be so easy to give in and let it sweep him away, but at the last moment, the competitive urge wins out. 

“C’mon, Matt,” Nick’s saying, “I know you wanna get loud for m-”

Surging forward, Matt cuts him off with another kiss. He moans into Nick’s mouth, using him to keep the sound muted. It’s a dirty trick, something Pavlovian built up over years of stolen, risky moments like this: when he draws back, Nick’s the one whining, his breath coming ragged as he fucks up into the tight circle of Matt's hand. 

“That’s it, babe,” Matt tells him, leaning back just far enough to enjoy the view, “God, I love you so much, love how you get for me an' Kenny -”

The sounds Nick makes as he fights to stay quiet twist low in Matt’s gut, make him feel dangerous, possessive. There’s nothing he loves better than ruining Nick slowly, teasing and pushing until his panting breaks open into a stream of strained, filthy curses in Matt's ear. 

But that will have to wait until they get to Tokyo. It’ll be better then, anyway: they’ll have Kenny there to watch them, entranced, his pretty mouth dropping open the way it does when he's past caring how he looks, when the only thing he can think about is the two of them, the feast of them, in front of him.

Matt digs his phone out of his jeans. “‘M gonna send Kenny a picture,” he says, swiping open the camera. “Wanna show you off, babe, does that sound good?”

Nick’s answer is a choked-off moan. In the viewfinder, he looks even more perverse, looking straight into the camera, slack-mouthed and panting. Matt feels light-headed as he lines up the shot: Nick’s hips wedged tight between his thighs, their cocks leaking precome over each other's fists, Nick’s chest flushed with exertion and that wrecked look on his face. 

“God, babe, you should see yourself,” Matt says as he sends the photo. He locks his phone and puts it away, turning his attention back to getting them both off before someone notices this bathroom’s been occupied for almost ten minutes. “You look so fucking good like this, I - _ha, fuck_ -”

His brother’s breath is catching on every upstroke, the way it always gets when he’s close. His face is flushed, his eyes unfocussed, hair escaping from under his cap like they’re in the final moments of a match. Matt wants to devour him, wants to do so much more than just jack him off, but it’ll all have to wait. Instead he tugs him closer by the hip, picking up his pace.

“C’mon, babe, you ready? You gonna - _ah_ \- you gonna come for me?”

Nick buries his moan in the meat of Matt’s shoulder, his free hand clenched in the back of Matt’s shirt, seeking as much contact as he can get. Matt reaches up to grip the back of his neck, relishing the way Nick melts into the touch with the last stutter of his hips.

“That’s it, baby, so good, you’re so good, Nick, so fuckin’ good -” Matt’s babbling as he follows Nick over the edge, fireworks behind his eyelids and Nick’s skin hot against his.

They’re quiet for a long moment, breathing hard, wrapped up in each other as they come down. Nick’s the first to recover: keeping a steadying hand on Matt’s thigh, he reaches for the toilet paper dispenser and starts pulling out sheets. He’s gentle as he cleans them both up. Matt leans back against the cool glass of the mirror behind him, watches Nick tuck himself away and buckle his belt.

“You go first,” he says. “I’ll follow you in a bit.”

“You should still get decent before I go,” Nick says. His eyes cut meaningfully toward the door. “Just in case.”

“Yeah, yeah. Just - gimme a minute.” Matt slips down from the sink, wincing at the slight pins and needles in his legs, to do up his jeans with stumbling fingers. “There. I’ll give you two minutes?”

Nick nods. Matt tries to stay out of sight as he pulls the sliding door open and squeezes out into the hallway. It shuts behind him, and Matt clicks the lock back into place, settling in to wait.

When he gets back, Nick’s pressed play on the match they’d been watching. He hands Matt an earbud as he sits down, but he’s not paying attention to the screen. Instead, he’s looking at his phone. 

Matt hooks his chin over his brother’s shoulder. “‘M getting pretty good at photography,” he says mildly. “Not as good as you, but I’m getting there.”

Nick scrolls down: “Look what he said.”

> Kenny: _jesus, you two are gonna be the death of me_
> 
> Kenny: _can’t you just be here now_

“Poor guy,” Matt laughs, “I didn’t mean to torture him.”

Nick scoffs. “Sure you didn’t.”

“Well, not _much_.”

Nick lifts his phone and takes a selfie of the two of them. They’re wearing matching self-satisfied smiles: the cats who got the cream. 

> Nick: _we’re working on it_

Matt pulls his own phone out of his pocket to send a heart emoji. Kenny sends one back right away, and Matt knows he’s smiling down at his phone like a dork, but he can’t stop himself. 

> Matt: _get some sleep, babe. we’ll see you soon._

When he looks up, Nick’s watching him. The look on his face is hopelessly fond.

“What?”

“Nothing. D’you wanna watch the rest of this?” he asks, nodding at his laptop.

Onscreen, Matt and Kenny are pulling another ladder out from under the ring. Nick’s standing on the second rope and shouting into the crowd, arms thrown wide in a challenge to the whole world, dangerous and proud of it. From here on out, the momentum of the match is theirs. 

“Yeah,” Matt says. He shifts over into Nick’s space, nestling his head under his brother’s chin. “I never get tired of this part.”

Nick drops a kiss to the crown of his head, wrapping an arm around his shoulders. “Good,” he says. “Neither do I.”

Matt’s eyes are drifting shut by the time the bell rings.


End file.
